ITIEQ C53

Chapter 53 – The Actual Controlling Shareholder

The tavern servant’s mouth hung open, utterly stunned.

His gaze flicked from Liu Fulan back to Shen Qinghe, face shifting with caution as he probed: “Young master… what do you mean by this?”

Such an elegant name, and yet deeds so vile!

Conflicting emotions swirled in his breast: first, relief that at last there was a fresh lead on the White Lotus Sect; second, rising fury at this selling of human beings disguised as fine wine.

Yes indeed — for them, this was like buying a mystery box. Who could say, perhaps they even believed it a unique delicacy.

Shen Qinghe tucked his clenched fist back into his sleeve, smiling faintly: “Or perhaps… I don’t fancy women at all?”

Liu Fulan’s brow arched sharply. He had always thought this Shen Gongzi disliked men. Never would he have guessed…

The servant blinked, then gradually relaxed, a knowing grin spreading: “Ah, you should have said so earlier!”

“Our wine, too, comes in ‘male’ and ‘female.’ The male casks are just next door. My mistake, I should have asked ahead. Please, this way.”

Not wanting to alert the enemy, Shen Qinghe masked his thoughts, following the man to view his so‑called male wine. With disinterest he pointed casually at a cask and then hurriedly departed.

Inside the carriage, Liu Fulan chuckled wickedly: “So, you’re a cut‑sleeve!*¹” He had long suspected that with such looks, Heaven would never intend him for dreary marriage and children. To waste such beauty would be a crime!

Shen Qinghe slanted him a glance, mind still on the tavern. “Liu Gongzi, don’t sidle so close. You know this ‘male love’ might infect you. Be careful your family doesn’t break your legs.”

Liu Fulan burst into wild laughter. Then his smile turned predatory, eyes hungry like a wolf: “Even if it cost me a leg, I’d pursue a night of spring bliss! Even death, if such a fate — would be a merry death! Would Shen Gongzi grant me the chance to die a stylish ghost?”

His lewd words were outright harassment. Shen Qinghe clenched back his impulse to slap handcuffs on him, deciding privately: once the White Lotus case was settled, this lecher’s manhood must also be settled with. Better for the world.

Yes — the system’s databank had some clinical chemical castration methods. He’d have Gao Rong research them. If they worked — Liu Fulan could be their first test subject.

As Liu Fulan leered on, he suddenly felt a chill in his lower belly. He glanced at Shen Qinghe’s pale neck, at the slim bones of his wrist, and heat stirred once again in his chest.

“Liu Gongzi must prepare for disappointment. I’m off to find my new ‘Little Tan‑Lang’.”*²

“Little Tan‑Lang” was the name of the wine cask he had just “chosen.”

“Once I thought you lofty families lived pure as jade, always impeccable. Who knew you’d also chase these hidden perversions, these tricks unseen.”

His words bit sharp. Yet Liu Fulan only basked, pleased. “Indeed! Shen Gongzi, you’ve not yet seen half the world’s wonders. Learn from me, and I’ll show you marvels unimagined.”

“So this trick of trading wine for people — was that your invention, Liu Gongzi?” Shen Qinghe’s glance sliced like unsheathed steel.

It was at dusk. Darkness blurred the world.

Half his face lost to shadow, Liu Fulan’s crafty fox‑light eyes gleamed. For once, the usually lust‑clouded scion dodged the question, draping a hand on Shen’s shoulder. “Mm… Just enjoy yourself. A word of caution: knowing too much will do you harm.”

Neither denying nor confirming — only warning. But Shen Qinghe was never one to heed such dictates.

By saying nothing, Liu Fulan had said enough. It was this tavern — and perhaps more. Likely he assumed Shen Qinghe, as some backwater commandant, could raise no storm in Huizhou.

A few copper strings bought a vessel of wine — or a duped villager, handed over free. Packaged and resold, profit multiplied thousands of times. And across all Great Yong, there was not only one White Lotus Temple, not only one tavern. How much could be made? But money leaves trails. However it flows, it flows — and every flow leaves traces. Those traces could be found. No vain effort his long days of patient feigned drinking and smiles.

“We’re here.” The carriage halted at the post station. Shen Qinghe lifted the curtain, ready to step down, but Liu Fulan caught his wrist.

“Qinghe… remember: the wise can see sprouts long before they grow.”

Lounging half‑reclined in fine silks, collar loosened, this was the picture of a wastrel rake. Yet, such a figure — counted among the Five Great Surname Houses, saluted even by local officials. Could he really be as idle as he pretended?

Shen Qinghe silently marked a question.

But whatever Liu Fulan was, he must be investigated — thoroughly. For as long as the White Lotus ran, there would be countless more girls like Xiaoman. Not every one would be lucky enough to meet a just man like Kong Zhengqing.

Buzzing filled his head — then the system murmured slow: “Host, my aggregate statistical forecast is clear. If you confront any of those houses head‑on, your probability of victory is near zero…”

Now, it no longer urged him to “make friends.” “My best recommendation — leave this matter alone. Wait for another time…”

“Liu Gongzi is right.” Shen Qinghe shook free lightly, stepped down, smoothing creases from robe. His voice cool: “Qinghe is too intimate. Next we meet, better you use my full name.”

With a laugh, he intoned a line of poetry:

*“I too, like ill‑fated Sima, am plagued with lovesickness; who knows where to lament the fragrant soul?”*³

Whether for Liu Fulan, or for the system, none could say.

Back in his quarters, Shen Qinghe locked his doors.

At the first quarter of the Hai hour (about 9:15 p.m.), Kong Zhengqing hurried through the night to meet him.

The next midday, summer’s heat wilted blossoms and leaves. At the door of a rundown tavern, three half‑clothed brawny men stomped tables and scuffled. Someone hurled a stone — the tavern’s signboard hung crooked with a crack.

“What kind of garbage swill is this!?”

“This wine’s piss! I could wring urine from my horse nearer to true vintage!”

The tavern‑boy nearly fainted. What idiots were these? Their little house charged three times market price — no ordinary folk ever drank here! Clearly these louts came to stir trouble.

“If you don’t leave, I’ll summon officers!”

“Ha! Go on then, call them!”

The rabble hooted louder, emboldened. “Wine so bad and overpriced — and we can’t complain? Even the magistrate would side with us! Neighbors, come see — this tavern bullies its patrons!”

They sprawled and brawled like mountains of meat, drawing crowds to gawk.

The boy cursed inwardly. If they ruined business, how could they ever repay the master of the house? He waved men forward from the rear — not amateurs, but trained fighters, bodyguards by trade. These he trusted to thrash a few troublemakers.

But the thugs doubled down, seizing chairs and smashing, filling the air with dust as chaos erupted.

“What’s going on here!?”

Across the street, atop a white horse, tall‑capped, trim‑bearded — an official from the yamen rode near, retainers parting the bystanders.

It was none other than Kong Zhengqing.

Hooves clattered. He surveyed the scene coldly. Brawlers lay bloodied under the fists of the tavern’s enforcers. A long staff hefted overhead glinted in his gaze. His voice rang: “Armed assault! All of you — to prison.”

The servant panicked, dashing up. “My lord, we’re honest folk, a simple tavern — see!”

But just then the thugs moaned loudly from the ground.

Kong snapped his whip. “Honest or not, the court will judge. Take them all and interrogate!”

Soldiers seized the servant like a chicken. Within moments, every brawler and every guard bundled off, tavern sealed with fresh tape, the lot marched away.

For three days, soldiers ransacked that nameless tavern brick to beam. No hiding place escaped. Many attempted obstruction — all ignored. Kong Zhengqing’s reputation for iron justice, combined with the authority of Western Army troops, brooked no gainsay.

At the end, they discovered two sets of ledgers — one innocuous, ordinary accounts; the other hidden in a secret wall niche, its lines running not in strings of coppers, but flows of silver by the hundreds. The yin‑yang accounts laid bare the entire sordid traffic.

Of course, confronted, the servant protested innocence, claimed he was but a mere hireling, knew nothing, insisted the true master must decide.

Kong made no denial — such was his aim. Not only this place, but every tavern in the commandery he ordered searched. Many arrests, even more confessions under soldier’s persuasion. Thus emerged a name — the true “operator” of these taverns: one called Ma Jiu.

Yet Ma Jiu was a believer, a wandering dharma‑man long gone roaming. Nowhere to be found. The trail ended.

The three of them (Shen Qinghe, Kong Zhengqing, Yao Guang) brooded in silence.

“The White Lotus should be renamed Golden Cicada Sect!” Yao Guang raged, swinging fists to the air. “Every time we peel back a shell, the body slips away!”

Shen Qinghe sighed. “This Ma Jiu is likely just another shell. To find him does nothing. We’ve already alerted them. Surely they know by now Kong Daren is with us. Everything henceforth will be even more cautious.”

“Worse — they’ll launder money in more ways than wine. Cloth, tea, paintings — endless routes. We target taverns, they shut taverns. Find Ma Jiu, another Zhang Jiu, Li Jiu springs up. Our strikes land only on cotton. Never the core.”

Yes: a holding company. Multiple layers of subsidiaries, risk diffused. Parent never dirties hands, keeps its own operations intact. Should one subsidiary collapse, the rest shelter safe. Whoever plotted this was a business genius indeed.

The others went still. Yao Guang scratched his head impatiently. “Let me lead troops and seize every scion of the Five Families in Huizhou! Those fops will crack under iron.”

“Calm,” Shen Qinghe smiled lightly. “They dig three burrows like cunning rabbits. Then we must burn the roots beneath the warren.”

As the others leaned in, expectant, he drew from his sleeve a neat stack of name cards:

“Silver circulates — but so too do people. Networks — well‑flowed streams of relations. Seven days’ worth of trade exhibitions, all nights of social toil — these, my harvest. And with them, some dim outline of our hidden foe.”

“Originally I had hoped to cross‑check with Kong Daren. But perhaps you must take me at my word.”

“Who? Who! Speak!” Yao Guang nearly combusted from suspense.

“Then I suspect it is—”

But a knock struck their chamber door. Silence iced the room.

“Enter,” came the answer.

And in walked Gongyang Ci, sleeves gathered in stately air, his bearing graceful and poised.

Seeing all three leaders together seemed not at all strange to him.

Yao Guang shot a look at Shen Qinghe: What’s he doing here?

Gongyang Ci spoke: “About the White Lotus — I have news. Would Lord Shen like to hear it?”

“Certainly, Lord Gongyang. You have a lead?”

“I do.”

He stood tall as bamboo, expression solemn.

“The White Lotus’ true operators…”

“…are of the Wei clan.”

Footnotes

1. Cut‑sleeve (断袖): A classical euphemism for homosexual love between men, originating from Emperor Ai of Han’s affectionate act of cutting his sleeve so as not to disturb his male lover sleeping upon it. 
2. ‘Little Tan‑Lang’ (小檀郎): Here a punning alias, given to a wine cask but also double entendre for a young lover, underscoring Shen Qinghe’s satire of the tavern’s shady practice. 
3. Poetry Quote: “I too, plagued like Sima with lovesickness, know not where to mourn the fragrant spirit.” This references Sima Xiangru (Han dynasty poet), invoking themes of passion, sickness, and lament for lost ones.